


Hard Nights: A Symphony of Horror for the Wasteland

by JSNion



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Nosferatu (1921)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Gen, Horror, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSNion/pseuds/JSNion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that deep in the Wasteland there lies a village.  They say it's a paradise of green and clear water, guarded by an impossible castle.  They don't say anything about the chained procession that winds through town every other night, looking for bodies to join their white-clad ranks or feed the great Death Bird.  Mad Max Rockatansky, the Road Warrior, must become a detective once more, and solve the mystery of this poison utopia and its creator.  The fate of those who fled to the village looking for salvation, maybe the fate of all the Wasteland, depends on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The  _Mad Max_ series was created by writer/director George Miller and the teams he worked with on each film.  The series is the property of Kennedy Miller Mitchell, Warner Brothers Studios and MGM.   _Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror_ was created by F.W. Murnau and the team he worked with on the film.  It was based (somewhat infamously) on Bram Stoker's  _Dracula_.  Both are in the public domain in the United States.

 

**HARD NIGHTS: A SYMPHONY OF HORROR FOR THE WASTELAND**

 

**PROLOGUE:**

_The Smoldering UFO, Possibly the Last Pub in the World (Ask For a Smoldering Ruin):_

When the door swung open and the founder of Bartertown stepped into the bar, Max got ready to run.  His hand went to the gun on his hip, and he slid off the stool just enough to get the quick start that would mean the difference between escape and death.  The last time he had seen the woman called Aunty Entity, she had spared his life despite having reason to shoot him in the head and leave what was left for the dessert.  That had been a few years ago.  She looked much the same as she had during their last meeting; a tall, dark skinned woman with shocking blond hair.  Now she was dressed for travel or war, her chain mail gown swapped out for old SWAT armor painted Bartertown's silver and grey, her blond hair pulled back in a tight bun.  She carried an automatic handgun in a holster on her waist, and an old, powerful-looking rifle was slung across her back.  She was flanked by two others.  One was a tall woman, her head hidden by a scarf and goggles, in a long duster.  She carried a military carbine covered in tiny silver writing.  The other was a big man in what Max guessed had once been authentic Samurai armor, but now it looked like it was being held together with old duct tape and some shabby animal pelts.  He was balding, but what remained of his hair was somewhere between brown and blond.  He carried what looked like some kind of sling in his left hand, and wore a large satchel across his left shoulder.

If Aunty was traveling, the weapons and retinue were a fact of life in the Wasteland.  If she had come looking for Max, they meant that he'd need to be fast or they would get him by simple numbers.  She scanned the bar, looking for someone.  Maybe him, maybe not.  Either way, if he was going to make his move, it would need to be within the next few seconds.  He would break for the door, plow through them, be in the Monaro and gone before they could get back on their feet.  And then Aunty looked him right in the eyes.

"Raggedy man.  It's been a while.  You've shaved.  Let's talk."


	2. An Impossible Apple

_The _Mad Max_  series was created by writer/director George Miller and the teams he worked with on each film.  The series is the property of Kennedy Miller Mitchell, Warner Brothers Studios and MGM.   _Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror_  was created by F.W. Murnau and the team he worked with on the film.  It was based (somewhat infamously) on Bram Stoker's  _Dracula_.  Both are in the public domain in the United States._

 

**CHAPTER I - AN IMPOSSIBLE APPLE:**

_The Smoldering UFO, Possibly the Last Pub in the World (Whatever you do, don't order the chicken fries, more often than not they're lizard):_

Max sat in one of the Smoldering UFO's window booths, uncomfortable.  Aunty Entity and her companions sat across from him.  Fading sunlight turned the white and red tablecloth, an artifact from before the Fall, gold.

The Smoldering UFO was an anomaly in the Wasteland.  In the Wasteland, you either ran as far as you could for as long as you could, or you went to ground anywhere durable enough to push back those who wanted what you had.  You did not plot out the trade routes of the major powers, find the spot where most of them intersected and build an old-world British pub there.  No one had told the Wright twins, Simon and Nicole, so they had gone and built it anyway.  The Smoldering UFO was a way station at the center of most of the big roads.  It had enough soldiers, enough weapons and enough fortifications to make attacking it costly.  It was reliably neutral ground in the always fraught negotiations between the major players, so long as the parties at the table did not cross the Wrights.  And it was one of the only places in the Wasteland to pay any attention to the quality of its booze.  The rule of alcohol in the Wasteland was that if it could get you drunk, it was good.  The rules of alcohol at The Smoldering UFO were that when you drank, it would actually taste like something and that if you drank too much, you would be given a room for the night.  Payment would be collected in the morning, with no exceptions.

"What are you drinking?" Aunty Entity asked.  It had been a long time since anyone had offered to buy Max a drink.

"I'm not.  You here to kill me?"  He did not know what Bartertown's ruler wanted, and if she had wanted him dead she had had more than one chance to do so since looking him in the eyes, telling him they should talk and buying the booth.  The last time they had met, Max had set Bartertown on fire, helped Aunty's rival Master escape from her alongside a group of feral kids, one of the Wasteland's many gangly, thieving airmen and his kid, wiped out most of her auto armada and killed her right-hand man.  She had let him go, for kinship's sake, but kinship was kinship and power was power.  If Aunty was looking to boost Bartertown against the other big names, killing the man who had destroyed it would be a good move.  Max fidgeted with the tablecloth, debating whether or not to risk the Wrights' anger by tearing some off for the road.

"Not today raggedy man.  Simon!"  Aunty waved the younger twin, the bartender today, over.  He was a tall, mixed-race man, reedy and affable, six big knives sheathed across his legs, arms and ancient shearling vest and a Mauser pistol in a cross-draw holster at his waist.  Nicole, his sister, probably hosting some sort of negotiations upstairs, was similar.  The Wrights were the single smiliest people Max had met since the fall, because they could get away with it.

"Aunty?  What'll it be?"  Simon pulled out the small slate he took orders on, and readied a piece of wrapped chalk.  Max had often wondered why the twins sounded English, but it was not something he would waste time asking.

"Ms. Campbell," she gestured to the tall woman, whose face was still covered by her scarf and goggles, "and I will share a bottle of the wine.  MeteorJohn," the big man in the dying samurai armor and thin pelts, "will have a pint of your lager.  Mr. Rockatansky will have a glass of water.  Cold.  With ice, too."

Max froze.  No one alive knew his last name.  He had buried everyone from those days, buried them, killed them or seen them die while he ran.  How did Aunty know?  Who had she found?  What had she found?  Why was she using that name?  She was definitely not here to kill him; digging up pre-Fall information was too much of an investment for that sort of play.  So what did she want?

"On the Bartertown tab Aunty?" Wright's voice pulled Max back to the present, rattled and wide-eyed.  Wright looked up from his slate, surprised.

"You ok man?  You've got my gram's tablecloth in a deathvice."

"...Fine."  Max let go of the tablecloth, and turned back to Aunty and her companions.  She was smirking.  MeteorJohn was stoic.  Ms. Campbell remained hidden behind her scarf.

"Ok mate, just let the tablecloth be.  I'll be right back with your drinks."  Max waited until Simon was out of earshot.

"How?"  He asked Aunty.  She nodded her head to Ms. Campbell, who pulled up her goggles and unwrapped her scarf.  Her face was covered in tattoos; words upon words upon words, and on her left cheek a gold star with wings that Max had not seen for 16 years.  A history woman.  Her hair was wavy, brown streaked with some grey and pulled back into a ponytail.  She looked like she was in her late 50s, or maybe her early 60s.  She spoke, to Max's surprise, with what had once been called an American southern accent.

"Maxwell B. Rockatansky.  At 19 you were the youngest man ever to serve on Melbourne's SWAT team, where you received two citations for bravery.  At 20, you accepted an offer to join the Main Force Patrol and moved to the coast with your wife and son.  During your time with the MFP you were regarded as an exemplary officer, particularly for solving the Cove Slasher killings and your work with victims who had been traumatized by their experiences.  Your captain, Fred Macaffee offered to push you for a detective's seat, but you turned him down.  You continued to serve with the MFP until age 22, when you were targeted by a gang lead by a man called the Toecutter.  That gang murdered your family, and the last time anyone heard of Max Rockatansky, you'd stolen a custom built police Interceptor and vanished, with the presumption being that you were out for revenge."  Finished, Ms. Campbell tented her hands in front of her face and looked at Max.

They knew who he was, and who he had been.  And whatever they wanted with him, they wanted him because of his cop days.  

"...That's true.  What do you want?"  A server had brought the drinks while Ms. Campbell had been talking.  MeteorJohn was sipping his beer.  Aunty had poured herself a glass of red wine from a dark bottle, and was pouring one for the history woman.  Max's water sat untouched.

"MeteorJohn, show him."  Aunty said.  The big man set down his beer and reached over to his satchel, resting beside the booth.  He opened it, fished something out and set it on the table in front of Max.

It was an apple.  This was not in and of itself unusual; there were still places in the Wasteland where things would grow if you knew how to grow them.  With the right tools and the right people, growth and green could even flourish.  Max thought briefly of the Citadel, of Furiosa and her people.  He had passed through the edges of her territory two months back, but he had not gone to her mountain city, had not seen her since their wordless goodbye as she had risen up on that platform to build a better world than that the hate-filled old man she had struck down.  He knew that he was welcome there, and that was something rare.  But he had to keep moving.  He turned his attention back to the apple.  Its existence was not strange.  What was strange was its appearance.  It was enormous, bigger, brighter and shinier than anything he had seen before the Fall.  He picked it up, felt it.  It was firm, and the skin smooth to the touch.  He imagined that if he were to take a bit of it, it would be sweet and crisp.  He had not had an apple that was sweet and crisp for years, but he could still remember the impression of its taste.

"This shouldn't exist."  Max said.  Aunty nodded, and set her wine glass down.

"No.  It shouldn't.  Even the best growers in Bartertown's market have to deal with the soil.  And even the best soil isn't good enough for an apple to grow like that."

Max shrugged.

"So someone's figured out how to?  And you want me to find them."  Aunty shook her head.  MeteorJohn grimaced.  Ms. Campbell set her hands down on the table, hard.  She took a minute before speaking, and when she did, she spoke clearly, and with anger - not at him but at whoever had grown the apple.

"No, Mr. Rockatansky.  We want you to find out why whoever has been growing these has been stealing children."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the first long chapter of my first ever fic, which I'm working on both for fun and for a grad school project about crossovers. I'll be curious to hear what y'all think. This particular crossover came about because of my love for both Mad Max and the assorted incarnations of Nosferatu, as well as my long-standing (and I mean back to the days of my elementary school's wonderfully comprehensive film section) fear of and fascination with Count Orlok. If I get this right, I'll be using the utter inhumanity of Murnau, Herzog and Stoker's creation to highlight what I see as the ultimate humanism of George Miller's series and characters.


	3. A Deal With the Ruler of Bartertown

_The _Mad Max_  series was created by writer/director George Miller and the teams he worked with on each film.  The series is the property of Kennedy Miller Mitchell, Warner Brothers Studios and MGM.   _Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror_  was created by F.W. Murnau and the team he worked with on the film.  It was based (somewhat infamously) on Bram Stoker's  _Dracula_.  Both are in the public domain in the United States._

 

**CHAPTER II - A DEAL WITH THE RULER OF BARTERTOWN:**

_The Smoldering UFO, Possibly the Last Pub in the World (Where Suddenly Everything Tastes Like Ash):_

 

"No, Mr. Rockatansky.  We want you to find out why whoever has been growing these has been stealing children."  

When Ms. Campbell finished speaking, Max had nothing to say.  Someone was stealing children.  He shouldn't have been surprised, not with what he had seen, not with those he had lost.  The Wasteland was not a place for children.  It was not a place for anyone.  You survived if you had the strength to, or you died.  It was a simple as that.  Max told himself this was the truth.  Good people were rare.  Good people with the strength to beat the Wasteland were rarer.  He did not think he would meet someone like Furiosa again, not for a while, maybe not ever.  And he did not count himself good, not on that level.  But someone was stealing children.

He set the impossible apple down on the table and looked at the three people seated across from him.  The history woman was clear-eyed and resolute.  She knew what she wanted from him and she would not leave without getting it.  Aunty Entity was curious; Max was an infamous wild card to her, and she wanted to see what he would do next.  The big man called MeteorJohn looked like he was doing the math on how fast he would have to kill Max if he made the wrong move.  Max was outnumbered, outgunned and would have fractions of a second to take advantage of whatever surprise attack he could mount on the three.  So running was not an option, not now.  And, Max realized, to private surprise, the job, the long-abandoned job, wanted to hear more.  Someone was stealing children.

"Explain." He said to Ms. Campbell.  He wished he had a notepad, but for now he would have to listen.

"Aunty knows better than I do."  She said, nodding to her companion before turning back to look at Max again.  Aunty nodded and finished her glass of wine. 

"Raggedy man, what do you know about the trade routes?"  Max shot Aunty a look.  She was being theatrical, just like she had when they had first met.  Then she had offered him fresh fruit and had a saxophonist playing to show that she could.  Now she was taking her time, drawing this out, hooking his interest.  And, to his annoyance, it was working.  He took a sip of the water he had been ignoring.  It was cold and fresh, something to savor.  He met Aunty's eyes with his own.

"I know that they're safe.  Safe as anything gets out here."

"They're safe enough for business.  And I've been working with of the other towns to build them out, push them further.  If we do it right, if we do it my way, we might even have an economy in a few years."  Aunty spoke with passion.  She was taking the dream of a new world she had started to build with Bartertown and pushing it further.  Max admired her will, and wondered if she was still using the Wheel and the Thunderdome to keep everyone who she had brought under her wing in line.  Aunty Entity was not someone to cross lightly.  He knew this from experience.

"But the point is, we're trading, regularly.  And with that trade comes communication, information, history and rumors."

"So you heard a rumor that someone's stealing kids?"

"I heard that some of the towns to the west had started getting trade from the coast.  Impossible trade."

"This?"  Max held up the apple.

"Exactly.  Fruit better than anything that's been grown since before it all fell apart.  Strong, healthy animals.  Blocks of stone.  Even lumber.  Fresh lumber.  I'm interested.  So I send some men to Miller's Tower.  These magical traders have started showing up, and Miller and I have an agreement that let's me use his post when I need it.  I send them with fuel and one of the autofleet.  They come back with three crate of these apples and a pallet of wood cut like it can't be cut anymore."  Aunty, to Max's surprise, was genuinely amazed by this.

"Two by fours?"

"Two by fours.  Everything old is new again raggedy man.  Too new and too good to be true.  So I send more men to more posts where I hear these trader's come.  Then I go myself.  When I'm not welcome, I make it clear that I'm welcome."

"And that's when you start to hear rumors."  Max was taking notes in his head, putting the story together.  He had never forgotten how, but it still felt strange to be thinking like a cop again.

"That's when I see these traders.  And they might as well be ghosts."

"They don't look like they came from before the fall Mr. Rockatansky," Ms. Campbell said, breaking her silence.  "They look like they came from before the Fall was impossible to avoid.  They look like they're from the 1950s."

"Clean cut, clean army jumpsuits, clean shiny boots.  Young too.  Their oldest was maybe 22.  Seeing them was like seeing one of my grandpa's postcards come to life." Aunty said.  Max made a note of the description and a note of the personal remark - it might be useful someday.

"They're polite and they trade well.  The town where we were meeting had just agreed to join this alliance of mine, rather than fight Bartertown, so I threw a party.  Food.  Drinks.  Fights.  Sex for those who want it.  None of these timelost kids show up.  The next morning, they're gone.  Along with everyone from this town under twenty.  Gone.  Completely.  Once everyone's sobered up, they realize.  Once the shock has worn off, they put two and two together.  And once that happens I start asking questions."  The theatricality was gone.  Aunty was getting to the point.  Max was taking notes.

"So I start to look a little closer at the route these traders come in on.  And I don't know where they originally came from.  I know the convoy they joined to get to the first town where they appeared, but nothing beyond that."

"They came from nowhere."

"Nowhere indeed.  And since I sent the word out, I've learned two things."

"They've gone to ground and that wasn't the first town they'd hit."  The old language was back, and with it the processes.  Max was thinking, working out the knowns and the known unknowns and the next questions he would need to ask.

"Exactly."  Aunty said, "And I won't stand for it.  No one's going to stop what I'm building raggedy man."

"So I find out who's behind these traders, whose taking the kids and put a stop to it."  Aunty laughed.

"Ms. Campbell was right, you were a cop.  I wanted to find you because I know you're good at getting by and good at killing people who I need removed, your conscience aside.  I put out the word, and she comes to me, tells me your story.  I have to admit, it's impressive, everything you've been up to."

MeteorJohn nodded at this, surprising Max.  He was never used to people knowing him, let alone respecting him.

"So I find out who's behind these traders, kill them and get the kids back.  And in exchange?"  Aunty smirked.

"You're more noble than you want to be, you know that Max?"  His name caught him off guard, but Aunty continued, "Your car?  We'll get it anything you want and load it up for the hunt.  When all this is said and done, anything you haven't burned down is yours.  Do we have a deal?"  Aunty offered her hand.  Even if he couldn't ignore his conscience, that was too good an offer to pass up.  

"We have a deal."  Someone was stealing children.  They had a deal.

"Where do we start?"  Max asked.  Ms. Campbell spoke up again, still clear-eyed, still righteously angry.

"We found one of the kids.  Wherever they took her, she survived.  I think what she has to say will be as good a place as any."


	4. Jo

_The_ Mad Max _series was created by writer/director George Miller and the teams he worked with on each film. The series is the property of Kennedy Miller Mitchell, Warner Brothers Studios and MGM._ Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror _was created by F.W. Murnau and the team he worked with on the film. It was based (somewhat infamously) on Bram Stoker's_ Dracula _. Both are in the public domain in the United States._

 

**CHAPTER III: Jo**

_Bartertown, The City where Hope Survives and Dreams Sometimes Come Something Close to True (So Long as You Keep to Aunty's Line)_

 

The tall girl stood on the balcony of Aunty Entity's tower, gripping the railing hard and staring at the morning sun.  She had a thick shawl draped over her shoulders and wore heavy boots.  Max knocked on the door frame, harder than he'd meant to.  The girl turned with a start.

"Who are you?!" She was shaky, and sounded on the edge of panic.  Max stepped back out of the frame, hands up.

"Sorry...Sorry.  My name is Max.  I'm with Aunty."  The girl, still watching him, put a hand back on the railing.  It didn't stop the shaking, but it seemed to help.  She pulled the shawl around her with her free hand.

"Are you with Ms. Campbell too?"  Now that Max could see her face, he could see that she was Asian, with wavy black hair that looked like it had been cut recently and brown eyes.

"She's with Aunty."  He said, nodding.

"But are you with her?  If you aren't...  There's nothing I want to say to you."

"She wants me to talk with you.  Ms. Campbell."  The girl nodded and gripped the railing tighter.

"About Lehne?"

"About the traders.  The ones who look like they've come... from nowhere that's left."  This was the most intricate conversation Max had had in years.  He remembered how, but was struggling with the actual process.  This wasn't a fight.  This wasn't a deal.  This wasn't a plan.  It was a conversation.  An interview.

"Why?  Ms. Campbell knows and Aunty both know.  I haven't lied to them.  And they could tell you.  So why do they want us to talk...  Max?"

"I was a cop...  Once."  Max smiled and regretted it immediately.

"A cop?  Oh.  Oh, it's you."  The girl's eyes widened.  "The Road Warrior.  You're real."  Max nodded, privately thought that what she had said was true most of the time, as far as he could tell.

"Yes."  Max gestured to the balcony, a question.  The girl nodded, and he walked out to join her in the sun.  She turned back to the sun, both hands on the railing again.

"I like to be out here whenever the sun's up.  It keeps me here.  Keeps me real."  Max rested his own hands on the railing a few feet down, giving her space but keeping himself immediate.

"That can be hard to remember out here.  And...  And it sounds like Lehne made it worse.  I'm sorry."

"Thank you."  She didn't quite smile, but her expression relaxed.

"What's your name?"

"Jo.  And you're Max."

"Max Rockatansky."  It felt wrong to say his full name out loud, like he was still a cop.  Like he was still wearing the badge, still working with Goose, still going home every night to the little house by the beach...  He pulled himself back.  If he went any further down those memories, the ghosts would come.

"Max, are you going to Lehne?"  Jo's question re-centered him in the present.  He would thank her if not for the explanation that would follow.  Talking about the ghosts just meant there would be more of them, and that they would be angry.

"Lehne's where the traders are from?"

"Lehne's where they're made.  Are you going?"

"Yes."

"And if you go, if you find it, will you kill the Master?"

"He's the man behind the curtain?"

"The Master..."  Jo stopped, and gathered herself up.  "The Master is...  The Master is the Master.  He...  is..."  The panic was back in her voice.

"D'you need to take a break?"  Max asked?  Jo shook her head furiously, and Max recognized the impossible process of putting words to the Wasteland and every one of its horrors.  But when she spoke again, she spoke clearly and sounded surprised that what she was saying made sense.

"He's not human."


End file.
